I’ve struggled to type my emotions lately. I’ve been ebullient, riding one of my longest highs. In college I self-diagnosed myself as temperately bipolar. Though I’ve vividly disclosed the low sides, I struggle glorifying the wild bursts of happiness. So, instead of throwing my jubilance in anyone’s face, here is an essay from High School titled Who Am I? that I stumbled upon in this sleepless night –
The sound of Sugrcult blasts into my ear and I wish for just another fifteen minutes to lie here, underneath my covers. I put on my spandex and sweatshirt, lace my running shoes, and stretch. The clock reads five thirty; it’s time to go. The winter wind shoots through my clothes, the snow begins to freeze my feet, and the darkness cautions me, but I still have several miles to go. My mind haunts me to go back home. Words shuffle through my head. I think, ‘if I turn back now I can get another 30 minutes of sleep..’ Fast, faster, come on, move. I push the pace. As each step passes my heart beats faster, sweat drips down, and my muscles begin to ache. ‘Don’t give in, don’t stop now, don’t let the pain beat you’ I utter to myself. I turn the corner for home after a quick few miles – the perfect beginning to any day.
I’ve been running consistently recently, but not bounding with passion like the past. Back then it was lustful like a new love. I was naively devoted, living in correlation to the number of times my foot struck the ground. I ran with heart. I ran fast. And I ran hard. I want to come out of my 2 year hibernation, but I’m nervous of dropping from the ladder of good emotion I’ve been climbing. Still, every good day starts with a run!